


we were together, all else has been long forgotten

by buck_y_bucks



Series: this hand brings new life [2]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky wants to be Steve's little wife, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Endgame fix it, Feminine Bucky, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Stucky - Freeform, Wakanda, amputee bucky, discussions of pregnancy, stucky family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:54:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23659444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buck_y_bucks/pseuds/buck_y_bucks
Summary: Before Steve knows what he's doing, he's running the tip of his finger over a sparkling diamond. He feels the small grooves, imagines the way they’d feel against his lips as he kisses Bucky’s hand. He moves to touch a gold band with a fat jewel, tracing it as he sees the rest of his life unfolding in perfect saccharine. He sees Bucky kneeling in the garden, humming to the strawberries and he sees Bucky in the kitchen, his apron fluttering as he spins to the music and into Steve’s strong arms. Suddenly he’s melting again, all of his joints going liquid as an image appears in his mind's eye:Bucky, in a white wedding dress.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Stucky
Series: this hand brings new life [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1703542
Comments: 10
Kudos: 124





	we were together, all else has been long forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> Day after day and night by night we were together- all else has long been forgotten by me.” - Walt Whitman

We were together, all else has been long forgotten

Steve swears there isn’t a thing in the world he wouldn’t do for Bucky- not a single damned thing. So it’s hard to explain why he stands for so long at the door of their barn, tin pale in hand. The white goat he’s been eyeing lies several feet away in a pile of hay. Steve also swears he isn’t nervous about milking the goat. He’d seen Bucky do it countless times. He’s just… Hesitant. 

He squares his shoulders, shaking his hands out and slowly approaching the goat. She bleats but climbs to her feet. The swell of her pregnant belly hangs heavily between her legs. Steve gently pets her flank, freehand rubbing the top of her head. With light pressure on her side, Steve leads her to the milking stand, and she clamors onto the wooden platform amiably. 

When Bucky does this with Marilynn- the goat- it’s ritualistic and paternal. Bucky whispers to her and feeds her treats from the palm of his hand. It’s easy for Steve to sit back and watch the two, practically melting between the floorboards. It’s less easy for Marilynn and Steve- they don’t have the same connection- but she nestles her head in the curve of the padded rest, nosing against the small tray of grain there.

“Thank you.” Steve murmurs, knowing Marilynn was taking it easy on him. He sets the pale underneath her and rubs his palms together to warm them. It’s a courtesy he mimics from Bucky. There’s a stool, but Steve simply kneels and finally begins to milk her. The tug and twist feel awkward at first, but they soon build a rhythm. Her soft breathing and gentle chewing are a pleasant background to the rustle of distant trees. After a good five or six minutes, the pale is half full and Steve leads Marilynn down from the milking stand. 

When Steve turns to leave she bleats loudly, and he stops to turn around. She's laying down again in the pile of fluffed hay. Her brown eyes are unblinking.

“What?” Another long bleat. Steve reaches up to rub the back of his neck, grimacing. “Look, I don’t-”

“A treat.” Bucky interrupts from the doorway, smiling. He’s framed lovingly by the sunrise, a light pink sweater stretched across his shoulders. “You can’t say goodbye without a little treat.” He’s holding a small stalk of celery, which he offers to Marilynn. She crunches happily, and when she's finished she butts her head against his palm. Steve is suddenly goo as he watches Bucky crouch so she can lick his check and he can rub her heavy belly. 

“You’d be a good mom.” Steve blurts, immediately going red. 

Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up but he grins and says, “I do have good childbearing hips.” He rises, placing his palm on the waistband of his skirt and shimmies playfully. There’s a serious, burning expression in his eyes that doesn’t match the ease of smile. The look makes something on the back of Steve’s neck prickle, and he frowns. He opens his mouth to say something but Bucky looks away. He pats Marilynn’s head again as he heads for the barn door, scooping up the pail of milk Steve had set down. 

Steve hastily latches the door behind them, jogging to catch up with Bucky. He feels kinda ticked that Bucky hadn’t waited for him, so they could walk together. “Hey, Buck wait up!” He calls, making it to the patio just as Bucky slams the back door. It shakes something in Steve and he takes the steps two at a time. He almost rips the door off his hinges as he throws it open because right now, he needs eyes on Bucky. The milk has been abandoned on the counter, next to a skillet of breakfast scramble that’s already been taken off the heat. 

“Bucky?” Steve calls. He hears the lock of the bathroom door slide quietly into place, a booming click. He races into their bedroom, pulling his shoulder back to… to...to smash into the bathroom when a small sob echoes out from under the door. Steve goes still. Another sound, this one a teary hiccup, has Steve melting against the bathroom door with his palms pressed against it. “Oh Bucky, baby, baby.” He twists uselessly against the handle, leaning in to look pathetically through the keyhole. “Baby please let me in.”

Bucky’s voice is small, “Can I be alone for a second, please?” 

“Baby, please just- I’m sorry, whatever I sai-”

“Please!” Bucky warbles, “Please go away.” Steve physically recoils, catching his bottom lip between his teeth. He thinks very seriously about bashing the door in and scooping Bucky into his arms but he lets the thought pass. He exhales loudly through his nose and stands up. Bucky had been denied privacy for so long, the least Steve can do is leave the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. 

Standing in the hallway Steve slams his closed fist against his temple several times, turning the interaction over and over in his head. Bucky had looked beautiful, as always- barefoot and vulnerable. He thought about Bucky weeping in their bathroom and almost groaned. It was all so new- this thing between them, and Steve didn’t know the boundaries. Obviously, he’d crossed one.

He stumbled to the kitchen, using a funnel to pour the milk into a tall glass bottle. He corks it, before rinsing out the bucket and hanging it on the hook beside Bucky’s apron. The floral fabric taunts him, pink strings limply hanging instead of tied around Bucky’s back where they should be. Steve eats a bowl of the scramble as he leans against the wall, dutifully watching their bedroom door. He can’t remember the last time he’d served himself. When he’s finished he washes his bowl and plates a sizable portion for Bucky, intending to leave it outside of the bathroom door.

Except the door to the bedroom is locked. Steve debates just turning around, but he presses his lips to the crack of the door and asks Bucky if he's hungry instead. The pipes squeal to life as Bucky turns on the shower. Steve takes that as a no. He loiters for several minutes, scuffing his feet against the carpet. He keeps waiting for Bucky to throw the door open and leap into his arms- but the water continues to run, and the door doesn't unlock.

The gravity of the situation doesn’t hit Steve until he’s wiping down the kitchen counters and clearing away the rest of their breakfast. In the four weeks since Steve had arrived in Wakanda, the two hadn’t even disagreed- much less locked each other out of their shared bedroom. Because of what? Because Steve thought Buck looked stunning in his canvas skirt and gentle handling of Marilyn? He hadn’t even thought that the mother comment would upset Bucky, who typically adored affection that feminized him. 

Steve mopes around the kitchen for a while longer. When the sun rises in the sky he becomes determined to take care of them the way Bucky always does. Steve collects 8 chicken eggs, waters and weeds their garden and takes their household compost to the container outback. When he’s done he’s practically buzzing from the productivity, so he grabs a handful of cloth sacks and Bucky’s grocery list to keep it going. Bucky had always been left-handed, and Steve is endeared by the wobbling scrawl.

Steve tries the bedroom door one more time, telling Bucky he’s headed to the market. He starts to chew on his lip again. He sees a shadow move behind the door. Hopeful, Steve asks: “Do you want to add anything to the list?” 

“No,” Bucky replies, the shadow retreating from the door. Steve exhales.

“Okay… If you’re sure, doll.” He must be sure because he doesn’t bother responding again. It’s a little over a twenty-minute drive to the city, since Shuri and T’Challa had hidden them in the easternmost corner of Wakanda. The drive is mostly dirt roads and someone leading a donkey waves cheerfully at Steve, who smiles and returns it. The last handful of turns are paved, and there's a dirt lot full of cars where Steve leaves his truck. The market itself is a large collection of tent vendors, with their goods displayed on plastic tables and hanging from wire wracks. It bustles, even early on a Tuesday morning. 

Steve doesn’t feel as chatty as he normally does, but he still smiles kindly as he moves through the market. Slowly, his canvas sacks fill and he starts to carry them slung across his back. He’s just picked up a bar of goat soap to sniff, the vendor chatting with him in accented English, when his eyes catch on a stall across the way. Thousands of silver and gold rings sit on velvet displays, gemstones and diamonds winking in the gentle sun. Steve offers a rushed goodbye, dropping the soap as he’s pulled almost magnetically forward.

Before he knows what he's doing, he's running the tip of his finger over a sparkling diamond. He feels the small grooves, imagines the way they’d feel against his lips as he kisses Bucky’s hand. He moves to touch a gold band with a fat jewel, tracing it as he sees the rest of his life unfolding in perfect saccharine. He sees Bucky kneeling in the garden, humming to the strawberries and he sees Bucky in the kitchen, his apron fluttering as he spins to the music and into Steve’s strong arms. Suddenly he’s melting again, all of his joints going liquid as an image appears in his mind's eye:

Bucky, in a white wedding dress. 

“Looking for anything in particular?” A voice asks, somewhere to Steve’s left. He looks up with a jerk.  
A short, gray-haired woman dressed in an orange patterned kaftan is perched on a metal stool, watching Steve curiously. 

Steve can’t help but laugh a little at himself, shaking his head. “Didn’t even know I was looking til I saw these from across the way.” He admits, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“No, no,” The woman comforts, waving her hand, “Touch as much as you'd like.” Mollified, Steve begins to look again just as she slides slowly off her stool. She leans heavily on her wooden cane as she approaches Steve. She must see that he’s holding a woman's ring because she says, “Special girl?”

Steve smiles ruefully, “Somethin’ like that.” He feels the tip of his ears go red so he ducks his head. That’s when he sees it- a silver ring, with a big square diamond in the center, flanked on either side by a smaller stone. It’s a traditional design, recollective of the ones Steve had seen while window shopping in the ’20s and '30s. It’s modernized with a thin band, consisting of several layers of wound metal. The nostalgia blooms like a flower in his gut. 

Later, much later, he’ll admit that his hand trembles as he plucks the ring from its home amongst the velvet rows. His heart pounds as the woman takes the ring, walking back over to her stool. As he watches, she twists the metal with a pair of pliers. Steve gasps despite himself, but she doesn’t lookup. “Making bigger.” Slowly, like magic, she rolls a wider wire around a wooden stick. In just minutes, she’s reaching underneath the table for a small ring box. She quickly tucks the retwisted ring inside, holding it out for Steve. When he doesn't immediately take it she thrusts it in his direction again, insistent. “Bucky’s size.”

Steve's eyes widen, but he reaches out to grab it. Gingerly, he sets the small box on the top of the emptiest rucksack. Steve had forgotten that Bucky had lived here for a long time- had probably chatted with this woman, bought rings from her. Bucky had built a wonderful life here- made friends with their neighbors, learned Xhosa by going to church every Sunday and was recognized every time they had dinner in the city. Steve realizes how lucky he is, to have someone like Bucky leading him gracefully through his new life. Bucky, who Steve had left alone in their home…

He grabs his wallet, opening it. “What do I owe ya?” He’s suddenly painfully eager to return home. 

She waves her hand dismissively and says: “You’ve paid enough.” Then, she turns away. Steve watches as she picks up her pliers again, presumably to get back to work. Steve stands, stunned.  
He’s paid enough. He thinks of Natasha, the bounce of her red curls as she springs off his shield and onto a roof in pursuit of a subject. He thinks of Tony, smugly eating a bag of blueberries as he explains the impossible science of AI like it’s algebra. He thinks of Bucky, throwing peanuts into the air and catching them in his mouth at Coney Island. Steve has paid sure- but has he paid enough? Not for the first time, he wonders if it should’ve been him that gave everything to the snap. 

When he gets back to the truck he’s breathing heavily, so he rummages in the bag for the ring box. He presses the smooth velvet against his cheek, squeezing his eyes shut to hide from all of the memories he wasn’t ready to relive. It takes a while, but Steve gets his breathing under control and wrangles his heart back into his chest. The truck lurches as he steps on the gas and points the car toward home. He can’t stop thinking about Bucky, locked in their bedroom as he cries. He gets the feeling he had on the porch, as the door closed between them. He needs eyes on Bucky, needs to know he's okay. 

Steve has to force himself to grab the bags out of the back, every bone in his body screaming at him to race inside, kick down the door, and cover Bucky’s body with his own. The ring box is shoved into his back pocket. Steve has to balance the bags so he can unlock and swing open the door. The smell of roast chicken sets him immediately at ease because it means Bucky- at the very least-had unlocked their bedroom to cook himself lunch. He walks through the living room, but the kitchen light is off. There’s a note taped to the fridge that reads, in Bucky’s unique scrawl: “Lunch in the microwave.”

Of course, there is a plate of a delicious lunch in the microwave, not even cold yet. Even upset at him, Bucky still went out of his way to provide for Steve. That need roars in Steve again, and that familiar tightness starts in again.

“Bucky?” He calls, setting the plate down and turning the corner towards their bedroom. The light inside of their room pools out from under the door. “Bucky?” Steve calls again. “Bucky, please just say you’re okay!” One beat of his heart turns into two turns into three, turns into Steve lifting his foot. “Get away from the door!” Steve yells, watching for a shadow as he kicks the plate of the doorknob and sends the wood splintering, swinging open to slam against the inside wall with a THUD! Bucky yelps, scrambling farther back on the bed as Steve looms in the doorway, chest heaving.

“The door was unlocked!” Bucky shouts, but he doesn't sound mad. The strap of his nightie falling down his left shoulder and Steve takes him in. His hair is damp, tumbling in waves past his shoulders, hairless legs folding over one another at the knee. He looks royal, delicate- like a princess, startled by the brute breaking into her ivory tower. 

“I had to see you.” Steve murmurs, descending on Bucky. He grabs at his shoulders and knees until he’s gathered in Steve’s protective arms. “I’m so sorry.” Steve says, showering his face with a kiss after kiss, “I’m so sorry I upset you, sweetheart.” The kisses grow more fervent, laid on any stretch of accessible skin. Bucky responds by sliding his hands up and down Steve’s sides. He makes himself as small as possible, soaking up the adoration. “I love you so much, I shouldn’t have said that-”

“Why?” Bucky interrupts, stiffening in Steve’s arms, “You don’t think I’d be a good mom?”

Bewildered, Steve sits back. He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to say here, so he sucks in a breath through his nose. He decides to answer honestly. “I do think you’d be a good mom. I think you’d be a great mom.” Bucky’s hands fly up to hide his face, and he tucks his head into Steve’s chest. Steve smooths his hands down Bucky’s spine, squeezing his shoulders. “You take such good care of me, never letting me go without. I know you'd do anything for our baby, and you'd love them no matter what.”

Bucky’s shoulder trembles in Steve’s hand like the words have triggered something in him. “I wish I could give you a baby,” Bucky says, voice hitching on tears. This throws Steve for an absolute fucking loop.

Is that what this is about?

Steve puts a hand on the back of Bucky’s head, drawing him in tight and wrapping an arm around his waist. “Oh, baby-”

“I can give you anything else. I’ve tried to give you everything else. But I can’t give you that-” Bucky starts to cry in earnest this time. Steve’s stomach wedges itself in the back of his throat and he makes a choked off noise, drawing Bucky impossibly closer. “I can't give you that.” He wails again as if reminding himself.

“Oh baby,” Steve repeats. “Baby we can still have a family. You know we can still have a family. It’s okay. You’re so amazing.” He waits until Bucky has cried his full, whispering praise and petting him gently. When Bucky goes still, Steve says, “You give me everythin’ I ever want. You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He presses a kiss against Bucky’s chin, over his closed eyes, across his forehead and neck. “You are so fuckin’ wonderful, god.” After a few more minutes of soft kisses and exchanges, Bucky goes soft in his lap.

The first thing Bucky says is: “I can’t believe you broke our bedroom door. That was so dramatic.”  
Steve huffs a laugh, cheeks flushing. All he can do is shrug and nuzzle a little closer to Bucky.  
He knows that Bucky understands. Sometimes, Steve wakes up in the middle of the night to see Bucky, perched in their windowsill. Even now, Bucky watches his six. 

Steve needed to get his hands on Bucky- and Bucky understands because Bucky feels that too, even if he expresses it differently.

“You’re right that we could adopt,” Bucky says, fingers relaxing to feel up Steve’s shirt. Steve’s skin is warm, and Bucky explores the ridges with closed eyes. “A superhero and an ex-assassin. I’m sure social workers will love that.”

Steve shushes him, combing through Bucky’s hair with one hand and anchoring him with the other.  
“You know they don’t see you like that, here.” Bucky shrugs, but Steve is surer than he’d ever been. The ring box digging into his right ass cheek proved it. “You’re just Bucky, here.”

“Okay,” Bucky says. Like clockwork, Steve’s stomach rumbles. Bucky laughs, climbing off Steve’s lap and offering him a hand. Steve takes it, but pulls Bucky into his chest instead of getting up. He presses their lips together firmly before standing to head for the kitchen. If his hand wanders to Bucky’s as well… He keeps it brief, so his stomach can’t embarrass him again. 

He stands up, but Bucky throws his arms around him one more time. “I was scared you’d realize you didn’t want me to be your wife. When you thought about how I’d never give you a family.”

He speaks in a tone that Steve doesn’t recognize. It’s like he’s all twisted up, speaking through some undeniable pain. Like he really thought Steve would leave- like Steve had anywhere else to go. Steve freezes, but Bucky doesn’t notice because he just keeps holding on. 

Their kiss had made him all but forget about the square protrusion in his pocket. Now it’s all that he can think about. He considers his next move for just a second before he’s reaching for the box. Bucky lets him go instinctually when he feels Steve start squirm, but he doesn't take a step backward until he sees the box in Steve’s hand. Steve keeps his eyes on Bucky’s face as he starts kneeling to the ground.  
“Bucky,” Steve begins, looking up at his best girl. Between Bucky’s easy waves and red wrap dress, he looked like some photo out of a pinup magazine. Steve struggles to make his tongue work, because his body is jelly for Bucky, like usual.

“Bucky,” Steve says again, just as Bucky exhales his name and clasps his hands over his mouth. “Pal you’re it for me.” He exhales, voice starting to tremble. He watches a fat tear fall down Bucky’s cheek and kisses the tips of his steepled fingers. “I’ve loved you since we were kids, and I've spent every day since I've met you thinking about making you mine. I want to be with you for the rest of our lives because you're… You’re the only reason I’m here. I want to stay here with you and I want to make a family with you and.. I want you to be my wife, Buck. Would’ya do me the pleasure of being my wife?”

“Yes.” Bucky gasps, “Yes, of course, Steve, oh my god!” Steve’s fingers are surprisingly sure as he takes the ring out of its box. It isn’t surprising when it slides perfectly down Bucky’s finger. It looks beautiful.

He presses his lips against it just like he planned.

**Author's Note:**

> Grammarly is my beta  
> Have ideas about our beautiful soft Bucky and Steve? Drop them below!


End file.
